At Home And Abroad | Page 7

with pleasure, though, or because, it is exactly the opposite to

what I myself felt. For all greatness affects different minds, each in "its
own particular kind," and the variations of testimony mark the truth of
feeling.[A]
[Footnote A: "Somewhat avails, in one regard, the mere sight of beauty
without the union of feeling therewith. Carried away in memory, it
hangs there in the lonely hall as a picture, and may some time do its
message. I trust it may be so in my case, for I saw every object far more
clearly than if I had been moved and filled with the presence, and my
recollections are equally distinct and vivid." Extracted from Manuscript
Notes of this Journey left by Margaret Fuller.--ED.]
I will here add a brief narrative of the experience of another, as being
much better than anything I could write, because more simple and
individual.
"Now that I have left this 'Earth-wonder,' and the emotions it excited
are past, it seems not so much like profanation to analyze my feelings,
to recall minutely and accurately the effect of this manifestation of the
Eternal. But one should go to such a scene prepared to yield entirely to
its influences, to forget one's little self and one's little mind. To see a
miserable worm creep to the brink of this falling world of waters, and
watch the trembling of its own petty bosom, and fancy that this is made
alone to act upon him excites--derision? No,--pity."
As I rode up to the neighborhood of the falls, a solemn awe
imperceptibly stole over me, and the deep sound of the ever-hurrying
rapids prepared my mind for the lofty emotions to be experienced.
When I reached the hotel, I felt a strange indifference about seeing the
aspiration of my life's hopes. I lounged about the rooms, read the
stage-bills upon the walls, looked over the register, and, finding the
name of an acquaintance, sent to see if he was still there. What this
hesitation arose from, I know not; perhaps it was a feeling of my
unworthiness to enter this temple which nature has erected to its God.
At last, slowly and thoughtfully I walked down to the bridge leading to
Goat Island, and when I stood upon this frail support, and saw a quarter
of a mile of tumbling, rushing rapids, and heard their everlasting roar,

my emotions overpowered me, a choking sensation rose to my throat, a
thrill rushed through my veins, "my blood ran rippling to my fingers'
ends." This was the climax of the effect which the falls produced upon
me,--neither the American nor the British fall moved me as did these
rapids. For the magnificence, the sublimity of the latter, I was prepared
by descriptions and by paintings. When I arrived in sight of them I
merely felt, "Ah, yes! here is the fall, just as I have seen it in a picture."
When I arrived at the Terrapin Bridge, I expected to be overwhelmed,
to retire trembling from this giddy eminence, and gaze with unlimited
wonder and awe upon the immense mass rolling on and on; but,
somehow or other, I thought only of comparing the effect on my mind
with what I had read and heard. I looked for a short time, and then, with
almost a feeling of disappointment, turned to go to the other points of
view, to see if I was not mistaken in not feeling any surpassing emotion
at this sight. But from the foot of Biddle's Stairs, and the middle of the
river, and from below the Table Rock, it was still "barren, barren all."
Provoked with my stupidity in feeling most moved in the wrong place,
I turned away to the hotel, determined to set off for Buffalo that
afternoon. But the stage did not go, and, after nightfall, as there was a
splendid moon, I went down to the bridge, and leaned over the parapet,
where the boiling rapids came down in their might. It was grand, and it
was also gorgeous; the yellow rays of the moon made the broken waves
appear like auburn tresses twining around the black rocks. But they did
not inspire me as before. I felt a foreboding of a mightier emotion to
rise up and swallow all others, and I passed on to the Terrapin Bridge.
Everything was changed, the misty apparition had taken off its
many-colored crown which it had worn by day, and a bow of silvery
white spanned its summit. The moonlight gave a poetical indefiniteness
to the distant parts of the waters, and while the rapids were glancing in
her beams, the river below the falls was black as night, save where the
reflection of the sky gave it the appearance of a shield of blued steel.
No